Suppression
by AvisOppugno
Summary: Ron is haunted by the memory of his own self-destruction of the relationship he had taken seven years to build up to. But when the time comes to do something about it, will he fight for the woman he loves or revert back into suppression?
1. The Countdown Begins

It was moments before dawn, when the sky was light enough to create silhouettes of the land it hovered over, but dark enough to cling to the peace that the night had instilled. It gave him the chance to find the calm he was seldom able to reach. He had come to find this time of day to be sacred to him, which was funny considering up until almost three years ago he wasn't even aware this time of day existed. Auror training had truly done a number on his sleeping patterns. Auror training had done a lot to his life.

It sounded ungrateful. To be honest, it was. He and Harry had been nothing short of stubborn in terms of their career path. Hell, they had spent their entire childhood building a resumé that could put even some of the best Aurors to shame. Sure, he had other passions, such as quidditch, but none could rival the contentment he got from personally ensuring the safety and protection of his loved ones.

And that was all Ron needed in life. Harry had said it best, their fifth year, that in the end, they had something that was "worth fighting for." His parents, siblings, friends…they were all worth fighting for, and he reminded himself of it every day. He had to, or else the ungrateful bit of him would consume him completely.

Ron scratched his head and rubbed his eyes as he took a deep breath in. The sun had now risen halfway, cutting its rays of light into the sleepy sky, and reminding Ron that his day was not going to wait on him. He stood up off of the windowsill he had been laying restlessly upon and stretched before making his way across the room to the navy, velvet curtains that encased his sleeping best friend. He always found it funny that they had left the Hogwarts dorms only to be put back into a similar sleeping arrangement with Auror training. The only difference here was that the room only housed Harry and himself, and the room was bare but for the couple of portraits of former Aurors and Auror-involved battle scene tapestries that were decorated on the dark oak walls. It wasn't as warm as Hogwarts, either. Overall he liked it, though. It felt like a bit of Hogwarts had stayed with them. A bit of home.

"Wake up, mate. Let the final month of training countdown begin," he called as he flicked his wand and the curtains flung open. He scoffed at the sight of his best friend, sprawled across the bed with his blankets in a heap of chaos. Harry rolled over lazily as he inhaled deeply.

Ron returned to his own bed, pulling out his training robes to change into.

"Five more weeks and we're official," Harry managed to say with a loud yawn as he found his glasses on his bedside and sluggishly stuffed them onto his face before following Ron's lead and preparing for the day of training ahead.

Ron snorted. "You'd think after we saved the entire wizarding world from bloody ruin we would have been considered 'official'," he grumbled. He was aware that much of the credit of their successes went to dumb luck, but nonetheless. Voldemort's downfall could never have happened without him, or Harry, of course, or Hermione.

There it was. Hermione. He mentally kicked himself for bringing her name up at all, though to be fair, his mind would have conjured it up somehow anyway. The woman practically haunted him, his thoughts, his dreams…it was partially why he could no longer sleep the way he did in school. And there was no one but himself to blame. He shut his trunk rather forcefully in frustration with his inner dialogue. The sound snapped him back to reality, and he immediately regretted the commotion he had caused.

Harry's attention shot to Ron's direction. "You alright, mate?" he asked, a look of both confusion and concern on his face.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forget my own strength," he chuckled half-heartedly. It was partially true. Ron often forgot how the training had physically changed him, Harry, and even Neville. Ron's build was finally beginning to match his height, thickening out with muscle. His mother had practically sobbed into him when he had visited for Christmas, both upset and proud of how her youngest son had grown into such a man right under her nose. She had even gone so far as to claim, dramatically he might add, that she would not have ever recognized him if not for the tell-tale signs of a Weasley boy, being the overwhelmingly red hair and freckles. That woman.

"I'm heading down to the dining hall. See you down there," he added quickly before Harry could see that something was actually bothering him. He knew Harry wouldn't prod him about it, their friendship had a mutual understanding in that respect. But their mentors had stressed the dangerous principal of showing any weaknesses to the opposition to such an extent that Ron no longer felt comfortable sharing any vulnerability with anyone, even his best friend.

Alas, Harry had bought the excuse, seeing as appetite was a defining quality of Ron's, and Ron left the room hastily. He was the first to the dining hall, filling his plate with all the biscuits and sausages and eggs his plate could take before finding himself a quiet corner to eat. The hall was unnecessarily large, considering the amount of applicants that were ever actually accepted into training had always been significantly low. There were no windows, as the hall was underground, but was heavily lit with torches that floated overhead. The tables were large and circular, with long circular benches wrapping around the tables, both made of dark oak as well. There were about a dozen of these tables scattered throughout the hall, covering the majority of the room albeit a large statue of Rufus Scrimgeour planted in the center of the room with the inscription "_We, ever your servants, will continue to defend your liberty and repel the forces that seek to take it from you_- _Rufus Scrimgeour, 1997_", and a long table at the head of the room where the food was served. He missed the house-elves' cooking at Hogwarts, and above all, his mother's, but the squibs of Scrimgeour Academy for Magical Combat were good enough cooks to satisfy Ron's appetite.

He ate quickly, in hopes that he could both prolong social interaction and distract himself from the constant battle he fought with his subconscious. As per usual, he was only succeeding with the former. His mind revisited the same scene over and over whenever he thought of her.

"It is but raw emotion that allows one to heal from loss, indeed. We must remember, however, that those who have died have died for a life without desolation or fear. Let us not wallow in our losses, but embrace the life of freedom we have fought so valiantly for."

Almost two weeks had gone by since the war had ended, and Ron's entire family, Harry, and Hermione were gathered around the radio listening to what was now referred to as 'Fawkes Radio' (formerly called 'Potterwatch') as Kingsley Shacklebolt made his first speech as minister for magic. Ron looked around the room at his family: His mum and dad were sitting on the couch, his dad's arm wound tightly around his mum's small, plump frame as the other held her hand; Bill sat in their armchair, Fleur perched gracefully on the arm with a hand on Bill's nearest shoulder; Charlie and Percy standing side by side next to the fireplace, Charlie's arm around Percy's, almost in a headlock (which Ron foresaw happening as soon as the seriousness of the moment passed); Harry and Ginny sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, Harry's arms enveloping Ginny, who was leaning up against him (Ron had inherited the aphorism of life being too short, and had since given up playing the role of overprotective brother); a sharp pain ached in his heart as his eyes wandered to George, sitting next to his mother whose other hand held his, no twin in sight. They had held a proper funeral for Fred last week, finding a bit of closure in sharing their grief and knowing he'd want his family to find their way back to happiness. In fact, the Weasleys felt everyone needed a little light to pull them out of the dark times they had so long been facing, and thus offered to host a celebration of new life. As far as ulterior motives went, Ron's father knew it would be something to keep his mum's mind away from her loss, and thus would force the rest of them from their losses as well. There was nothing more distracting to a Weasley family than a festivity commanded by their mother. In fact, this moment had been the first in days that they had all been able to gather around as a unit and relax. Truthfully, if it had not been for Kingsley's speech, they probably wouldn't have had the rest at all, but his mum was in agreement that it could not be missed.

Ron couldn't hold his attention to the speech, however. He preferred the view. Specifically, the one he had yet to settle his eyes upon. He turned his gaze behind him, to the occupant of the chair he was leaning against. There she was, Hermione Granger, curled up on the seat, her small hand absentmindedly running through Ron's hair as she listened intently to the radio. She looked down at him in response to his shifted attention, her lips curling up into a grin and her eyes squinting slightly. Everything about her expression was warm, and Ron immediately felt his stomach churn.

Seven years. Seven years of broken hearts and bickering and friendship and hardship and growth and love. They had finally made it. And while he may have wished it hadn't taken them so long, he would not have traded any of it for the world, because it brought him here. To this moment, with this girl, this brilliant girl who was just daft enough to choose him, above all. He stared back at her with matching intensity, hoping she knew how much he cared for her. It was all he could do when words were just not his strong suit.

She cupped her hand softly on his cheek, and he felt his cheeks get hot. He couldn't help but smile sheepishly as she took notice of his now-pink complexion and smiled even wider, suppressing a laugh. It was all very new, to both of them, acting on the emotions they had suppressed for so long. But they were happy, incandescently happy.

If he had only treasured that sole passion then the way he did now, he was sure that things would never have changed. He would never have let them.


	2. Mind Over Matters of the Heart

"Right. First off, I think a bit of congratulations are in order! Two years, eleven months of some of the hardest, and best in my opinion, work done!" The encouraging words were Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic. They were standing in a room about as large as Hogwart's Great Hall in a far corner of the Academy that they had, until this day, never even known about. It was dimly lit and completely bare, causing Ron curiosity of what its actual purpose was.

Ron couldn't help but smirk. He, Harry, Neville, Dean Thomas and Terry Boot were the only Aurors-in-training of their year. Who wouldn't be pleased with themselves for making it as far as they had in Auror training? It was right nasty work, and he was one month away from reaping his well-earned rewards.

"Now, as you all know, the final month is our chance to see what you've truly taken away from all of your training. You will be put through a series of situations, testing what we have come to acknowledge as both personal and communal strengths and weaknesses. We ask that you do your best to treat them as authentic crises, for they will help us determine who is ready to move on from the academy," Robards continued, his cheerful demeanor replaced with complete seriousness.

Ron scoffed quietly and leaned over to Harry. "Yes, Harry, I'm not sure you're capable enough to save the world from the Dark Arts. Oh wait…" he whispered sarcastically. Harry grinned, fighting back laughter.

"Ahhh, right. I see Weasley thinks our final tasks here lack a proper challenge?" Robards interrupted.

Ron's arrogance quickly shifted to feigned diffidence. "No sir. I'm actually looking rather forward to it," he replied.

Robards eyed Ron with skepticism, and while Ron had the urge to give his true opinions on the matter, he preferred to make it to graduation, so he smiled meekly at the man.

Robards finally dismissed the matter with a nod. "Alright! Let's get started then!" He said with a smile before apparating.

The boys looked at each other for answers, though it quickly became clear that no one knew what was to come next.

"I don't like this," Ron could hear Neville mutter, and Dean chuckled as he slapped Neville on the back.

"Oh, come off it, Neville. You've been in far worse shape," Dean reassured him. Ron and the other boys joined Dean in laughter.

"Yeah, come on, Neville. I bet these tests will be easier than asking my sister to the Yule Ball," he joked, and Neville's nervousness broke as he, too, cracked a smile.

In that moment the torches that had been scarcely lighting the room went out, and the boys were in complete darkness.

A simultaneous "Lumos!" rang out, and as the room was re-illuminated, Ron could see that like him, the other four had their wands at the ready and were scanning the room. The tone had changed, and the nonchalant attitude of a 'test' disappeared as Ron's survival mode kicked into autopilot. He looked around, and the room had changed completely. They were in what appeared to be the disheveled living room of a house. Books were strewn about, furniture was turned over, something made of glass had been shattered, and he spotted a trail of blood making its way up to the second floor.

He turned to the others and indicated to the trail, suggesting his intention to follow it. The others nodded in agreement of splitting up and Harry took a step towards Ron, establishing that he was going with him. Ron nodded his consent, and they slowly made their ascent to the second floor. As they neared the top, Ron noticed the blood looked darker and fresher, and he could now hear a soft moan coming from a room to the right of the stairs. He glanced back to check on Harry, who had also taken notice of the new additions to their investigation. He eyed Harry and cocked his head to the left before he veered to the right and down the narrow hallway. The moaning was getting louder now, and his pace quickened until he got to the very last room on the left. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear now that the moaning was coming from a woman in severe pain. He readied himself for the unexpected, and with a wave of his wand, the door flew open.

"Lumos Maxima," he called and a great ball of light sprouted out of his wand and into the room so he could survey its condition. The room was just as tousled as the rest of the house, albeit a distracting pool of blood leading to…

Ron's breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead in his tracks. His body tensed, and his eyes widened slightly. The trail of blood had stemmed from a brutally wounded Hermione. Her body was bundled into a heap in the corner, and though she had been moaning softly before, her body was empty of any life.

He began to panic, trying to push down the sobs that were urging to surface, to clear his mind of the emotion that could potentially block him from physically taking hold of the situation. He took several steps forward into the room until he hovered over her, and the emotional reaction to the sight in front of his began to overpower. He froze. In his mind, he knew it was only a drill, but the shock of the situation before him was too much for his heart.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to snap himself out of it. _It's not her. She's not really here. DO SOMETHING, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! _He snapped his eyes back open, and found that Hermione was no longer Hermione, but his mother in a similar state. He realized the mistake he had made within moments, and in an eager effort to rid himself of the awful images he had fallen witness to, he bellowed, "RIDDIKULUS!"

The boggart vanished.


End file.
